If It's Not One Thing, It's Another

Can we chat a little about this ‘thing’ everyone keeps bringing up?  Is this a phenomenon in your life as a parent, because it seems to be coming up a lot lately in mine?


“So, your daughter does gymnastics ten hours a week – I guess that’s her ‘thing’ huh?” 


“So, your son played basketball, lacrosse, and baseball this year.  I like the diversity, but which one of those is his ‘thing?’”


“So, my child really loves singing, but she’s much better at acting, and I’ve been trying to convince her that theatre should really be her ‘thing.’"


Now really people, isn’t this parenting gig perplexing enough without adding another ‘thing’ to worry about?


The truth is, I can see the importance of a child having a ‘thing’ in his or her life – a sport, activity or academic ability that encourages him to practice hard, set goals, and master skills; something that builds her confidence while promoting her determination to improve; a focus that affords a growing boy or girl the opportunity for vital childhood experiences like participating on a team, respecting authority, competing for a prize, supporting others, taking criticism, failing, succeeding, sacrificing. 


Honestly, I’ve spent some sleepless nights wondering when my own children would find their ‘thing,’ and whether or not I should play a more serious role in helping them find it.  A ‘thing’ could keep them out of trouble, after all.  It could give them the chance for character building encounters and, who knows, maybe even the possibility for an exciting future based on their abilities or experience – a championship, a scholarship, a career.  Extremely unlikely on all three accounts, but hey, you never know.   Maybe there is something to this idea of forcing their hand. 


Perhaps I should be telling my children to “Pick one and go all in.”


After all, a childhood and adolescence spent on a driving range might not lead to crystal trophies and millions in endorsements, but it might lead to a job as a sports writer or a golf cart salesman or a putting instructor.  Countless hours spent on a piano bench might not lead to a sold-out audience at Carnegie Hall, but it might lead to a career as a music teacher or a score writer or a recording engineer.


I believe a passion for a game, sport, activity or subject can absolutely provide a child with the chance at a future utilizing the knowledge gained from the time they’ve invested in such endeavors.  And in a world where our focus tends to last as long as it takes to send a text message, maybe it would be beneficial to ask my kids to stop all their dabbling and choose something . . . one thing . . . to make a top priority.


But . . .


What if my child doesn’t have a ‘thing?’  What if my son tries every sport in the book, enjoys each for different reasons, does fairly well at all of them, but doesn’t ever find a favorite?  What if he never gets any better than average at tennis and golf and basketball and playing the trumpet?  What if my daughter spends the next six years of her life (and half of our life savings) in a gymnasium, only to realize at age fourteen that she no longer wants to compete on the vault, bars, beam and floor?  What if she wakes up one morning and wants to try cheerleading or softball or crocheting instead?


I think we’ve become so fixated on making sure our children have a thing to focus on that we’ve completely lost focus.  We’re allowing doubts about the future to blind us, and the blur has become more than just concern about our where our children are headed down the road.  It has become worry about where they are right now, and if we're not careful, I'm afraid it might turn into words and actions that make them wonder if they should be worried too.


Our children should not be worrying about their futures. 


Not yet.


Let them worry about kid things for now.  Let them worry about making their beds, finishing their homework, and cleaning up after themselves. 


There is all the time in the world for the big stuff.  They have entire adulthoods ahead of them.  There will be decades when they can worry about whether they’re doing the right thing and saying the right thing and being the right thing to everyone in their lives.


Right now, there are too many other things our children should be doing.  They should be making messes and eating popsicles and catching lightning bugs.  They should be blowing bubbles and telling jokes and building forts.  They should be playing catch with their friends on Monday, board games with their parents on Tuesday, golf on Wednesday, basketball on Thursday, baseball on Friday, and guitar on Saturday.  Our children should be running and jumping and climbing and laughing and screwing up and starting over and stretching themselves.


There will be SO many things vying to be a priority in our children’s lives as they become adults.  Big things.  Hard things.  Things they have to think about every single day.  There will be family, relationship, health and work things.  There will be travel, illness, exercise, and sex things.  There will be illness, death, financial, and huge decision things. 


Yes.  There is absolutely a part of me that longs for each of my children to have a thing – a talent, a love, a sport or activity that draws them in and holds their interest in such a way that they can’t help but become great at it.  But when I look back at my own life and my own things, all of which lasted but a short season, I see the fault in pushing my kids to choose something specific to channel their energies into.  There will be plenty of pressure for them to manage in the future - they don't need it from Coach Mom right now. 


Hopefully, despite my insistence (or lack thereof) that there be a special “thing” in their lives, my children will eventually discover there is one thing that matters more than anything else.  It won’t be a sport they played in high school.  It won’t be a talent they’ve developed since toddlerhood.  It won’t be a shelf filled with awards and accomplishments.  


It will be a man, and a love so amazing that EVERY. OTHER. THING pales in comparison.  


And that one thing . . . that man called Jesus with the ever abundant love . . .


HE will be the thing that makes my children whole. 

America the Beautiful

Stanley, Idaho.  Population 63.

Surrounded by incredible beauty.  The Sawtooth mountains, rising up jagged and strong and stunning.  The Salmon river, swirling and splashing over rocks the color of the sun.  The rolling valleys, dotted with trees and cabins and life.

We had lunch at the bakery after our white water rafting trip.  I’m pretty sure the entire town was there with us.  There aren’t many options in a place with sixty-three people.

They were a rugged bunch, if you want to know the truth.  It’s an hour’s drive when you run out of razors, after all.  And you don’t need a collared shirt to float the river, fish the banks, farm the land.

There are new faces in Stanley this time of year, or so we heard.  They come for the summers.  Leave their ski resort jobs in Salt Lake and their college classes in Boise for a few months in paradise.  They live out of the backs of their cars, pulling out tents wherever the camping is good.  They bathe in Redfish Lake, which was frozen solid only a month ago.  They come year after year, enticed by low humidity and miles of hiking and biking trails.  I imagine the desire for solitude must draw them in too, or maybe it’s simply the slow pace of life in the middle of nowhere. 

I felt torn in this town.  A town with no traffic lights, no parking lots, and very few choices.  I couldn’t survive here, I thought.  I wouldn’t have enough to do, enough places to go, enough people to see, enough things to buy.  I wouldn’t be able to work and seek and strive for . . . whatever is it I’m constantly striving to attain.  Recognition, appreciation, knowledge, success, wealth?  Bigger and better and more?  Deep down in the dark and dirty places of my heart, I know what I’m really striving for is a completely unattainable goal. It’s what I’ve been striving for most of my life and can’t let go of, despite knowing with every certainty that I will never reach it.

Perfection.

Stanley, Idaho is far from perfect.  It’s far from anything, as a matter of fact, and so very far from Atlanta, Georgia.  Yet, the people in Stanley . . . they seem so happy.  They smile easy, unencumbered by any real responsibility.  No one we met was married or had children.  One of our fly-fishing guides has been building his home in town for over thirty years.  He’s not quite finished, what with helping out when they need him over at this ski school and that road crew and down the street at the local rafting company.  They live wild and free in Stanley, capable of making decisions only for themselves and their immediate futures.  Their worries are few, their burdens light.  They seem a community of wanderers, bound by their love of this amazing place and their inability to leave it for long.

Could I live in a place like this, I wondered?  I would revel in spending a few hours among the undeniable glory of God’s untouched creation, yes.  My hours there fueled my faith and filled my soul as I witnessed the majesty of our Creator rise up around me.  Only He has the power to show this obsessive-compulsive mind that astonishing beauty can lie in a lack of order and planning and symmetry.  But could I spend days and weeks without the possibilities I’m used to?  Could the quiet and the splendor and the stillness fulfill me for more than a day or two?

We had to leave.  It was only a summer vacation and our life is here, amidst the concrete and the traffic and the constant busyness of one of the biggest cities in the nation.  The heat felt oppressive as we stepped out of the airport.  Welcome home, I thought, and I smiled easy.

I’m not meant to live in Stanley, Idaho, but I’m glad God took me there. It’s good to see the differences in people.  Good to realize my choices have brought me to a specific place, and despite its downfalls, I can find happiness here. I find joy in my many responsibilities, though he can upset me, she can anger me, and it all seems heavy sometimes.  There are no mountains just outside my window today, but there are hydrangeas as blue as the sky.  There is more striving than stillness, and I’m sad for that, but God allowed me to visit a new place and He offered a new perspective, and I’m grateful for that.  I’ve seen what people are capable of, when they live their dreams and stop worrying about what others think. I’ve seen what it looks like to take life day by day, with the support of others doing the same. I’ve observed those who aren’t seeking approval from the world, but from within.  I’ve realized that the idea of perfection is drastically different for everyone, which means there is no perfection. 

Life in Atlanta can be overwhelming.  It can feel disconnected and demanding and exhausting.  But I imagine life in Stanley has its own disadvantages.  

There is no perfection. 

We make our own choices, and we look for the blessings in what we’ve chosen.  They are always there, at the top of a snow covered mountain range, or in a city filled with millions of pines and people.

If you’ve never been to Idaho, I highly recommend it.  Sun Valley, where our family stayed for the week, was one of the loveliest resorts I've ever seen, with mountains in every direction, meandering streams, and more flowers than you can believe.  The town of Ketchum, just about a mile from the resort, is a bustling community of interesting folks from all over the country.  The town and resort have much to offer.  There are cultural events and wonderful restaurants.  There are quaint shops and golf courses.  There is ice skating, horseback riding, fly-fishing, swimming, and miles of hiking and biking trails.  And the summer high temperatures in Sun Valley are usually right around the low temperatures in Atlanta.

If you do ever make it out to Idaho, be sure to visit Stanley, population 63. It’s a wonderful place to find a whole bunch of blessings you never could have imagined, and return home to a whole bunch of blessings you should have been counting all along.